The Undesirables
by Imagine-Airy
Summary: AU Story: The day Harry Potter and his comrades defeated Voldemort was the day their blindfolds were ripped away and the ugly truth was revealed. They were branded as heroes, but they were stigmatized for the actions they had taken to win the war. They were relics of a past nobody wanted to remember. They were obsolete, at least until Minister Shacklebolt gave them a purpose again.
1. The Undesirables

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Harry Potter franchise. I'm merely playing in Rowling's sandbox.

The Undesirables

They hadn't been prepared. Their notions of war had been idealistic, chimerical little concepts pieced together with the scraps Dumbledore and the surrounding adults had offered them. They had believed so naively, so whole-heartedly that it would all be over after the Light won. Voldemort would fail, his followers would be killed or captured, and all those who opposed him would live happily, free of fear and without the oppression of blood status hanging over them. They should've paid more attention, should've taken note of Sirius and Remus' jaded ways, their nervous and, in Sirius' case, drunken habits and realized that winning a war doesn't necessarily mean its over. But they hadn't been prepared, and now here they were. One year after Harry Potter had cast the curse that ended Voldemort's life and his reign of terror and the wizarding world was still at war.

"Hermione, what're you doing out here at this hour?" Harry's light footsteps, the result of years spent sneaking around a castle and dodging his abusive relatives, broke the silence. He crossed the small space between them and lowered himself to sit beside her on the stoop of their house, taking note of the sheet of parchment that was clasped in her hand.

"Just reflecting on everything that's happened this past year, Harry. You have to admit, this isn't where we thought we'd be." Hermione gestured to the space around them and Harry gathered that she was talking about more than the house they shared with Ron and Luna Lovegood, soon to be Weasley.

Of course, if she _was_ talking about the house then she was correct on that front, too. He certainly hadn't ever imagined that he'd be sharing one of the many Black properties left to him in Sirius' will with his best friends and Luna. He had been fairly certain he'd marry Ginny and Hermione and Ron would find partners of their own, if not each other, but life hadn't worked out that way. Instead, Ron had grown closer to Luna after they escaped from Malfoy Manor and by the time the war came to a crescendo, they were a nearly inseparable couple. That hadn't been the only thing that didn't go according to plan when the war ended. Ron was going to be an auror, but he ended up signing a contract to play as a beater for the Chudley Cannons. It was a dream he had never thought would come true, but he had jumped at the opportunity to play for the team he adored since childhood. The fame and popularity that came with such a position were merely a bonus, and if he ever grew tired of constantly being the focus of the press as the only approachable member of the Golden Trio, he had the substantial amount of galleons in his Gringotts vault to comfort him. Harry and Hermione were happy for him. One of the Trio should get to live out their dream, especially since two thirds of the group were failing miserably at getting what they wanted out of life.

Harry had wanted to be out of the public eye. He wanted to do something nondescript, something that would be peaceful. No more fighting evil wizards, no more action or drama, he just wanted to be himself. He just wanted to be Harry. So, he had decided to work as a professor at Hogwarts teaching DADA. It was as close to a home as he ever had and he thought retuning to his roots might help him move past everything.

Unfortunately, he had barely accepted the position McGonagall had offered when frantic letters began arriving from concerned parents. Someone on the School Board had caught wind of the offer and the information had been leaked. Harry Potter was respected for defeating Voldemort and the wizarding public was grateful that he had, but that meant he was powerful and power was something to be feared. Rita Skeeter's article that detailed Voldemort's tragic life and his descent into madness (perhaps the only honest thing she'd ever written) didn't make matters any better for Harry. After all, Voldemort had applied for the DADA position at Hogwarts in his youth, too. It was just one more thing Harry had in common with the madman in the public's opinion.

Things had unfolded in a similar fashion for Hermione. Everyone knew she was the brain behind Voldemort's defeat. Everyone knew she had sacrificed her family, health, and to some degree, sanity, for the greater good, but people are often uncomfortable with sacrifice. Especially when they know they could have done more, should have done more so that an eighteen-year-old witch didn't have to sacrifice almost everything she had to bring down a megalomaniac. People were as uncomfortable with Hermione as they were with the rest of the witches and wizards that had been forced to do terrible things to win the war. In Harry's opinion, more than fear, people stayed away because they were ashamed. They were ashamed they hadn't done more, that they had put the burden of winning a war on the frail shoulders of adolescents and now that it was all over and they realized they had been wrong, they couldn't face their shame. This resulted in the population largely keeping its distance, which is why the brightest witch of her age was turned away when she applied for her dream job as an Unspeakable and every other job she tried to put in for afterwards.

Luna was in a similar position. She had been a prisoner of war and the only thing that had spared her being tortured was her blood status. That wasn't to say she was unharmed during her captivity, but she was certainly treated better than any of the magical creatures, half bloods, and muggleborns that were unfortunate enough to be caught by Snatchers. She had also lost her father in the Final Battle. Xenophilius Lovegood was struck down in front of his daughter with a slicing hex to the throat and Luna was never quite the same. She was still otherworldly and flighty; she still made nonsensical statements, but her silver-blue eyes had a faint glimmer of sorrow that hadn't been there before. She had gone into a rage when her father had fallen before her and turned on the Death Eater that had been taken his life. Rabastan Lestrange never had a chance, and neither did any of the other Death Eater's that crossed her path after him. She had emerged from her momentary insanity sometime later with a serene smile on her face, her tattered shirt stained crimson with blood that wasn't hers, and a pile of black clad bodies at her feet. Needless to say, those who hadn't gotten their hands dirty or lost anyone significant during the war found it difficult to be around Luna. It had become a running joke between the small group that they were the undesirables of wizarding society and they often referred to themselves as such. They had fought and won a war in order to make the world a better place, but they had reaped none of the benefits.

The war was over, but the nightmares and the pain and suffering left in its wake were still very much alive and thriving in the magical world. It left behind festering wounds that worsened with time. People were afraid to trust those with power. They were afraid to trust anyone who was different, anyone who had been tainted by the atrocities of war. Perhaps the matter of blood status was less of an issue than it had been, perhaps they had achieved some semblance of equality, but a phobia of another Voldemort rose up in its place.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione's voice pulled him from his disjointed musings.

"Yeah, I was just thinking. You're right. I never thought this is how it'd be. I thought we'd have our lives together. Everything figured out, you know? Instead we're holed up in this house because the very people we fought for are too afraid or ashamed to face us. This isn't the life I had in mind. It was supposed to get better after Voldemort. We were supposed to be happy," Harry said. His words didn't contain any heat. He had moved past anger and depression months ago. He was mostly numb these days to anyone who wasn't a Weasley, Luna, or Hermione.

Hermione laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, "Life's never that black and white, Harry. There are shades of gray. I wish it had been that simple, though. At least we have each other. And hey, it worked out for Ron."

"Yeah, and I'm glad it did. I envy him a bit sometimes. He has a family, no one he cared about died, and people don't shy away from him. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for him and I don't begrudge him that…" He trailed off and Hermione reached down to give his hand a comforting squeeze.

"You just wish things were that simple for those of us who got the short end of the stick during the war. I understand," she barely spoke above a whisper but Harry heard her anyway. He nodded, "Yeah."

Hermione fiddled with the letter in her free hand, her whiskey colored eyes tracing the official Ministry sigil emblazoned on the heading. "What do you suppose they want with us?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't know, but I'm willing to hear them out if only because I trust Kingsley. He' a decent enough minister, I think."

"Don't you think it's a bit strange? I mean, why would we be summoned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? We haven't done anything." For what must have been the twenty-seventh time since she received the letter that evening she smoothed out the creases and read it for any clues she might have missed.

 _Dear Ms. Granger:_

 _You are hereby summoned to a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Head Auror on September 7_ _th_ _at 9 a.m. For your safety and the safety of others, we ask that you check your wand in with the department secretary upon your arrival. You may reclaim your wand at the conclusion of your audience._

 _Thank you,_

 _Audrey Vescovi_

 _Executive Assistant Secretary_

 _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

Harry tightened his fingers around her much smaller hand. "No matter how many times you read it you're not going to gain any more clarity. Believe me, I've tried. There's no use worrying about it, 'Mione."

"I know. I just hate not having an answer," she muttered, her tone almost petulant.

Harry snorted in amusement, "The great Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, renowned genius, and overachiever extraordinaire doesn't have an answer for something? Hold on just a second." Harry scrambled to his feet and peered over the edge of the stoop, staring intensely at the ground below and then he turned his face towards the sky and squinted. His emerald eyes became little more than coin slots in his face as he stared up at the stars.

"What're you doing?"

Without tearing his gaze from the sky he answered, "Well, despite being a wizard, I can't see through the ground to see if Hell is freezing over, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that the sky isn't falling. I was pretty sure some catastrophic thing would happen if the day ever came when you were wrong. It has to, like, upset the balance of the universe or something."

Hermione reached out and swatted at his leg. "Harry! I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not so important that the natural order of things will come unhinged just because I make a mistake or don't know something." Laughter bubbled up in her throat and spilled past her lips. It had been a while since she'd laughed and she was grateful Harry knew how to draw her out of her contemplative and melancholy moods. It was easy to get trapped in such a state once she delved into her mind or fixated on something. The worry still lingered in the back of her mind, a proverbial ghost in her cerebral cortex, but for the night she would try to put it behind her. She allowed Harry to pull her into the house and into the kitchen for a cup of tea. She perched on the counter and swung her legs back and forth like she had as a child while watching her mother cook dinner in the evenings. She wished things were as simple as they had been when she was little. She wished her parents were still alive. She wished for a lot of things.

She hastily pushed that line of thought away and accepted the cup of vanilla tea Harry offered her. The warmth bled through the porcelain and into her skin, warming her clammy hands.

"I happen to think you're that important, Hermione." Harry said.

Hermione's eyes softened and a slight blush rose up in her cheeks, "You're a good friend, Harry. I'm glad I have you here, although, I do think your opinion is biased."

"Agree to disagree then. Anyway, I meant to ask if there was anything in particular you wanted for dinner on your birthday. Mrs. Weasley asked me to ask you when I stopped by the Burrow. She's trying to get everything sorted out for your party."

"Isn't it a bit early for all that?" Hermione inquired with wide eyes.

"We're talking about Molly Weasley," Harry retorted as if that one sentence was explanation enough. Hermione groaned, "Fair point. I just hope she doesn't go overboard."

Whatever response Harry might have had was cut off by the sound of the floo activating in the front parlor. A moment later Ron and Luna stumbled into the kitchen, arms linked and a little tipsy, or at least, Ron was. It was hard to tell with Luna since she was never really altogether there.

"Oi, you guys should've come out with us. Missed out on an amazing night. I ran into Wood down at this club we went to. Can you believe he had the nerve to tell me Puddlemere was gonna wipe the quidditch pitch with the Cannons? As if that could seriously happen. He's mental I tell you. Anyway, best part is Luna charmed his hair so it's Cannon colors. Course, we didn't tell him. Just pretended not to see it, but it was bloody brilliant!" Ron spoke in a rush, his words blending into one another until they didn't sound anything like the English language. Fortunately, Harry and Hermione had extensive practice translating Ron's exuberant ranting.

"Sounds great, mate. Wish we could've seen it." Harry said and Hermione nodded her insincere agreement.

Luna smiled dreamily, "Oh, you can. It'll last until they play against the Cannons this weekend. Although, I was surprised. Did you know orange hair strangely suits him? It must be because of all the snorkaks."

Hermione wasn't sure how snorkaks connected to looking good with orange hair, so she just smiled and said, "Of course. That would make sense."

She slid off the counter and wandered over to the fridge for a snack, suddenly feeling the effects of having skipped dinner in favor of studying the letters she, Harry, and Luna had received. She pulled the leftovers out and cast a quick warming charm on them. She began pulling down plates for everyone, knowing that they hadn't gotten around to eating much either, except for Ron. Nothing ever kept him from eating.

"Don't worry about me, 'Mione. I don't want anything. I think I'll just turn in for the night. We've got a busy morning ahead of us," Luna said.

Ron nodded, "Yeah. Count me out too. I'm just gonna turn in for the night, too."

The sound of glass shattering echoed through the room. Harry had dropped the plate Hermione handed him and it lay scattered in jagged pieces across the polished wood flooring. Everyone fixed their eyes on the boy who lived and he in turn pointed at Hermione. "See? I told you if you were ever wrong the natural balance would be disturbed! Ron turned down food! That's the first omen of bad things to come. It's unnatural!"

Hermione cast a repairing spell and levitated the mended plate onto the counter. A small smirk pulled at the corner of her lips, "Well, I suppose I can't really dispute it whenever there's evidence like this."

"Oi! It's not that big of a deal. I've refused food before!" Ron huffed.

Luna smiled tranquilly and comfortingly patted his arm, "One shouldn't tell lies, Ronald. That's how you attract korbanixs." Without waiting for him to reply she latched onto his arm and drug him from the room. Hermione and Harry watched them go with thinly concealed amusement. "I can't decide if they're a match made in Heaven or Hell." Hermione murmured.

Harry raked a hand through his perpetually messy hair, "Depends on the day."

They settled into a comfortable silence and ate their meals, each lost in their own thoughts. Sometime later, long after the clock had struck midnight, they began their trek up the stairs and to their respective rooms. Hermione's room was a small suite tucked away at the end of the hall on the second floor. Harry's was two doors down. They preferred to be close to each other at night so that if one of them had night terrors the other could get to them quickly. It was a common occurrence unfortunately.

Hermione stopped at her door, her hand wrapped around the polished crystal knob. "Harry…"

He smiled at her from across the hall. Though she hadn't finished her sentence he knew her well enough to guess at her thoughts. "It'll be okay. I honestly doubt it's anything bad and if it is, well, we'll get through it like we always have. Together."

That said he pushed his door open and called out a quiet "good night."

Hermione mulled over his words and felt a small amount of comfort wash over her. She was worried about more than the summons and what it meant. She was worried about leaving the house; anxious about the stares she knew would follow them and the whispers that would nip at their heels. The outside world was only separated from them by wards and a few inches of wood they called a front door, but those few layers kept them safe from the ugliness that waited for them on the other side. Tomorrow they would be exposed to that ugliness again and she wasn't quite ready to deal with it, but she would have two of her closest friends with her and so she would walk in with her head held high and act as though she was unbothered by the whispers and blatant gawking. Harry was right. Whatever happened they would be okay because they had each other to fall back on.


	2. An Offer Made

So here's the second chapter in this series. I know they're a little information heavy right now, but that'll thin out as the story progresses, I think. Anyway, as mentioned before, I don't own Harry Potter. I'm just loitering in Rowling's parking lot.

The Undesirables: An Offer Made

Morning didn't come early enough in Hermione's opinion. She spent the better part of the night tossing and turning until she had simply given up on sleeping and gone about her morning ritual. She spent the remainder of the morning alternating between glancing at the clock and trying to read the book Bill had loaned her last week about deconstructing ancient wards. Trying was the operative word in that statement. It was a complete and utter failure and she had never been so relieved to hear the creaking on the stairs that announced someone else's arrival. Luna ducked into the living room, her platinum hair secured by her wand in a messy bun atop her head and dressed in a painfully bright yellow dress that nearly blinded Hermione. The younger witch skipped over to the loveseat and plopped down. "Good morning."

Hermione quirked one eyebrow in amusement, "Why're you whispering?"

"You're cranky because you didn't sleep last night," Luna said knowingly, "I'd rather not push my luck by being too loud."

"You make me sound like a dangerous animal," the curly haired witch grumbled.

"I think that's a fair comparison if we're talking about any time before 10 a.m. or when you're in research mode, 'Mione." The blonde quipped.

Hermione snorted into her teacup, "I almost admire your frankness."

Luna abruptly rose from her seat and brushed off the skirt of her dress, turning towards the entrance of the living room and staring expectantly. A full minute later the stairs began creaking and Hermione could hear the faint shuffling of footsteps and then Harry appeared in the doorway. This didn't surprise Hermione anymore. She had yet to figure out how the former Ravenclaw always seemed to know where everyone was, but she and her two best friends decided some time ago that Luna was a closet clairvoyant. Of course, Hermione didn't really believe that. Divination of any kind was completely laughable in her opinion. Harry and Ron believed in such things, they argued Trelawney's prophecy was proof that seers were real. Hermione was more inclined to believe that what Trelawney had done was create a self-fulfilling prophecy and the Potters and Longbottoms had drawn the short straws.

"Mornin' Luna, 'Mione. Are you guys about ready to go?" Harry's cheerful greeting earned him a bright smile from Luna and grumbled response from Hermione. She would never understand morning people. She much preferred nights, and though she wouldn't define Harry as a morning person per se, years of functioning without sleep because of nightmares and potential threats had made it so that he wasn't bothered by the grogginess that followed waking up. He didn't know what it felt like to be well rested.

She cast a quick glance at the clock and saw that it was nearing 8:45. "Ready as we'll ever be I suppose. Let's get this over with." She crossed the room to the floo and wandlessly cast a summoning charm, snatching her beaded bag mid air as she leaned down to grab a handful of floo powder. "See you two there, then." She called over her shoulder before she promptly disappeared in a swirl of green flames.

It hadn't taken the trio long to become irritated with their fellow witches and wizards. Less than a minute after they had appeared in the Ministry antechamber, still hastily brushing soot and cinder from their clothing, the entire room had fallen silent. It was a thick silence, the kind that was so deep and still that it was almost loud. It left an angry buzzing sound in their ears. Of course, it was a short-lived silence. The whispers started up almost as soon as the silence had descended.

"Did you hear? Lovegood killed eight Death Eaters during the Final Battle. They said she smiled the whole time. My daughter was in Ravenclaw with her, said they used to call her Loony Lovegood. Seems like it might've been a fitting name after all."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the two women speaking the loudest, but aside from making them recoil it did little more than fuel the fire. A balding man in traditional wizarding robes frantically tapped one of the women's shoulders, "Keep your voices down. Granger heard you and you don't want to get on her bad side. I read about her role in the war. She was tortured by Death Eaters to the point of insanity. And she's the only thing keeping Potter in check at that."

She rolled her eyes. There was only one lie in that particular set of rumors, and that was that she could control Harry. As if she could ever keep him in check. That boy was a disaster on legs. Her "insanity" she didn't necessarily mind hearing about, it got old but it wasn't necessarily a lie. The countless hours of torture at Lestrange's hands had left her with some amount of neurological damage. She was prone to severe hallucinations from time to time that had kept her skills with a wand quite sharp. She rather liked using them as target practice when she was alone. As a result, they had stopped keeping breakable items around the house. Between Harry's uncontrolled magical outburst during his night terrors and her throwing hexes at things that weren't there, nothing was sacred and the rest of the household had learned to keep anything of value locked away. Their housemates and friends had gotten pretty good at dodging spells, too. There was also the matter of her altered levels of consciousness. She had been able to compartmentalize emotions and thoughts very well during their Hogwarts years, but now she could very easily lower her conscious to such a level that she didn't feel emotions at all. She was sorely tempted to put that unique perk to use now so that she could hex the idiots around her within an inch of their lives and not feel guilty about it.

As if sensing her frustration, Harry stepped between she and Luna and linked arms with them, guiding them from the antechamber and onto the nearest elevator. The whispers followed after them, ringing in their ears. Hermione spared a worried glance at Harry's face, trying to gage if the gossipers bothered him. His face was as blank as stone. He was totally impassive.

She couldn't blame him for shutting down in a situation like this. After all, it had to suck for him. He had spent his entire life being groomed to battle a madman. His adolescent years had totally revolved around Voldemort and with the man's death he should've been able to lead his own life, finally separate from him. But that wasn't how it worked out. Instead, he was compared to Voldemort at every turn. They were both orphaned, both brought into the magical world relatively late in life, both spoke parseltongue, and both rallied people to them for better or worse. They even shared similar body builds and, of course, there was the matter of their wands being brothers. It wasn't enough that Harry's early life revolved around Voldemort, now the public more than halfway expected him to _be_ the next Voldemort. There were too many similarities, Harry had too much power and support, and he had been exposed to Voldemort's very soul for a prolonged period of time. That was more than enough for society to decide that he and those similar to him were a threat to their way of life.

The soft _ding_ of the elevator pulled Hermione from her thoughts. She straightened up and stepped off the elevator and into a spacious lobby. It was decorated in the Ministry's standard shades of black and gold. A curved desk was centered in the chamber on a raised platform, the words Department of Magical Law Enforcement stood out starkly from the dark backdrop. A tall, willowy young woman sat behind the desk, her hair pulled back in such a tight bun that it was uncertain if her expression was severe because of her hairstyle of choice or because she was just an unpleasant person.

Hermione stepped up to the desk and cleared her throat to get the woman's attention. "Excuse me, but we have a 9:00 a.m. appointment with—"

"Minister Shacklebolt, and the Heads of the DMLE. Yes, I know. Just check in your wands and go through the doors to the left. The others have already arrived, with the exception of one," the woman cut her off, never tearing her eyes away from the documents she was stacking neatly on the desk.

Hermione's hand tightened around her wand and she had to forcibly stamp down the urge to cast a nasty hex at the rude woman. "I see. Is it really necessary to part with our wands?"

From the corner of her eye she saw Harry palm his wand anxiously. They both had a phobia of being defenseless, and without their wands there was little they could defend themselves with. In light of everything that had happened since they left Hogwarts their 7th year, neither of them were thrilled with the notion of being left vulnerable. The secretary, Ms. Vescovi as the nameplate read, fixed her dark eyes on them and frowned. "It's necessary."

Harry placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, successfully stopping the scathing retort dying to break past Hermione's lips. He shot her a warning look and she rolled her eyes and looked away. She supposed he had a point. People talked about them enough as it was; it would only make things worse for them if she cursed the silly cow. Leaping over the desk and throttling her the good old-fashioned muggle way was probably unacceptable, too.

"It is. But it would be entertaining," Luna whispered as she passed by the curly haired witch and offered her wand to the taciturn secretary, "Here you go. Has anyone told you lately? You've got a serious case of wrackspurts. You should see someone about that. They feed on negative energy, you know."

Hermione scoffed, "She should have an infestation then." She followed Luna's example and handed Ms. Vescovi her wand. Harry followed suit. Luna, for all of her oddities, was a remarkably good judge of character and if she felt secure in leaving her wand behind then they would trust her judgment. They didn't have to like it, though.

The three of them crossed the room the secretary had pointed them towards. It was a conference room, to their relief (mostly Harry's) and not a courtroom, which meant things were not so bad as they could have been. The sense of relief, however, was gone as soon as it had come. Minister Shacklebolt sat at the head of the table and to his right was a kind, albeit, determined looking woman with dark hair. She was slight and pretty, but her appearance did little to detract from her commanding presence. On the Minister's left was a robust, beady-eyed man with a face so riddled by scars that he could be dismissed as disfigured at first glance. There were three other wizards in the room and they looked as unenthusiastic about being there as the new arrivals felt.

Harry tensed beside her and Hermione immediately zeroed in on what had put him on edge.

"Malfoy," Harry said tersely.

The blonde Slytherin sat towards the end of the long table closest to the door and was flanked by Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Zabini and Nott had never been a problem for the Gryffindors. Bar the fact that they were Slytherin, they didn't really have any other reprehensible qualities. They had been neutral throughout the majority of the war, regardless of their parent's allegiance to Voldemort. Keeping their heads down and fading into the background had worked for them until their 7th year when they were faced with a decision: take the Dark Mark or die. Neither option had set well with the duo and they had sought out the Order for protection, offering up all the information they had gleaned from years spent around dark wizards as collateral. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was still a sore point for Harry. He had taken the Dark Mark at the request of his parents and Harry knew very well the sort of disgusting things one had to perform during Death Eater initiation. The only thing that stayed his kneejerk reaction to hex their old schoolmate was the role he played later in the war. Harry remembered Malfoy defecting from the Death Eaters and helping them escape. He had seen first hand how altered the young pureblood wizard was by the horrors he had seen and been forced to commit in order to survive in Voldemort's ranks. He pitied him in a way.

Hermione and Luna had long since let go of any negative feelings brought on by old wounds he'd inflicted on them. Luna remembered his reluctance in raiding her house. She recalled the way he guided her through the raid, quietly whispering for her to do as he said and in exchange he would make sure she was safe when they got to Malfoy Manor. He had kept his word and protected her as best he could, running interference so that she wasn't left alone with the most notorious and vicious Death Eaters and sneakily tending to her injuries when he was unable to protect her in any other way. Hermione's relationship with him was one that was based on an understanding. She had seen the way his face had paled with disgust and terror as she was torn into by his psychotic family members. He may not have liked her back then, but he couldn't stomach what was happening either. It had become too much and he had stepped in, declaring that it was getting boring and if they exposed her to much more she'd be useless. His voice had waivered so pathetically though that he was suspected of sympathizing. His aunt had turned her wand on him and by the end of the ordeal, as he lay bleeding out beside the muggleborn he had despised in his earlier years he was forced to acknowledge that their blood wasn't so different. He couldn't tell if it was his blood or hers that stained his clothes by the time Harry and Ron had burst into the room. Out of obligation and a small part of gratitude and respect, they had taken them with them when they made their escape.

"Potter," the blonde said flatly. He turned a slightly warmer expression on the two girls, "Hermione. Luna. You both look well."

Hermione chuckled, "Compared to the last time you saw us I'm sure we do. Blaise, Theo, it's good to see you two as well. Wish it was under different circumstances." The last part of the statement wasn't necessarily true. She could've done without seeing them, but she didn't mind seeing them either. They had only just been getting to know each other when the war ended and they all went their separate ways. It seemed surreal to be in the same room as all of them again. The only one missing from the picture was Pansy Parkinson.

As if on cue, the doors flew open and slammed against the wall with a resounding crack. A dark haired witch stormed into the room, teetering along on excessively tall high heels. Her face was partially obscured by large black sunglasses but even without them Hermione would have recognized the new arrival as Pansy Parkinson simply by the stick straight blue-black hair and the dramatic way she entered the room. She may have grown into her unfortunate nose and become rather pretty over the last couple of years but her habits and haughty tendencies were still present.

"Late as always, Pans." Theodore muttered.

"If I came early or right on time all of you might not have been here and then I wouldn't be able to make an entrance. When you look this good it's necessary to make sure you're seen. Gives people a chance to admire me. You wouldn't know anything about it, Nott." She sneered. She brushed shoulders with Harry as she passed by and pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, "Long time no see, Gryffindorks."

"Good to know that you haven't changed at all. Still narcissistic as ever," Harry drawled.

Pansy smirked, "If I was sharing anything other than my beauty you'd call me a philanthropist."

Minister Shacklebolt cleared his throat, "If you're all quite done getting reacquainted, perhaps we could start this meeting. I'm sure you're all wondering why you've been summoned here."

Harry, Hermione, and Luna took this as a cue to move and hurriedly sat down on the opposite side of the table from the Slytherins. Hermione peered anxiously around the room, "You could say we're more than a little curious. The summons was pretty vague."

Shacklebolt nodded sagely, "Yes. We couldn't include more information for fear of the missive being intercepted. To be clear, none of you are in trouble of any kind. We apologize if the letters gave you cause for concern. You see, you've been summoned here because of your personal histories, unique experiences, and in small part because of your status as outcasts. What it really comes down to is that we require your assistance."

"Assistance with what exactly?" Harry asked, his green eyes narrowed in suspicion. He may trust Kingsley within reason because of their history, but he had enough bad experiences with the Ministry to be wary. Kingsley may be a friend of his, but his loyalty was to the Ministry and his duties first.

Minister Shacklebolt sighed and dragged his hands over his face in frustration, for a brief moment losing the cool and professional mask he'd managed to maintain from the time they entered the room. "We've gained some intelligence regarding Voldemort's remaining followers. Suffice it to say we were mistaken in believing we'd apprehended or eradicated the majority of them. I'll leave it to Head Auror McLeod to fill you in on the details. Then we'll discuss what you're here for."

All eyes turned towards the scar-faced man to the Minister's left. He reminded Hermione of Mad-Eye Moody. He carried himself in the same self-assured and confident way, and he had the same scarred visage, but the similarities ended there. This man may be reminiscent of Moody, but he lacked the air of danger and borderline insanity that had clung to the older auror. After a short pause the man seemed to gather his thoughts and spoke up.

"About four months ago small scale attacks began breaking out throughout Europe. The first wave of them occurred across London and the areas. Aurors were sent out to investigate the scene and came up empty for the most part. The only thing that could be ascertained was that the victims were killed by a slicing hex or some variation. Nothing else seemed to be off about it. There was nothing amiss at the scene, nothing taken, and so we were uncertain as to what the aim of the assailant was. It wasn't until a friend of mine at the French Ministry mentioned similar murders occurring throughout the countryside in France that we began to understand that we were missing the big picture. It was overlooked initially, but all of the victims had something in common."

"This is enthralling and all, but what's it got to do with us?" Blaise demanded, his annoyance bleeding through his usually cordial tone.

The Head Auror sneered at Blaise. "I'm getting there, boy. This has everything to do with you. Perhaps it'll make sense to you if I give the victims a name, hmm? The Delacores, Doge, Hestia Jones, the Higgins, the Fletchings, Vaisey. Those are just a few. See what it has to do with you now?"

"They're all supporters of Harry or from notorious pureblood families that didn't side with Voldemort," Hermione said quietly.

"Well, aren't you just as quick a study as they said you were. Correct answer, Book Smarts," he snapped. Out of habit more than anything the Slytherins in the room snickered and even Harry's lips twitched slightly at the moniker. Hermione narrowed her eyes on McLeod, "My names Hermione, thank you kindly. Use it. Now, what are we missing? How do all these pieces fit together and what's it got to do with why you need us?"

The small woman that Hermione had taken note of when she first entered the room spoke up for the first time. "What McLeod is getting at is that these small scale attacks, these murders, are just the tip of the iceberg. Voldemort had a network that ran far deeper than anyone realized. We assumed that the Death Eaters we saw, the Werewolves, and the Dementors were the full extent of his supporters. What this rash of crimes has revealed is that, in actuality, he had an underground system of sorts. He had a whole separate army that spans across countries. The informant McLeod caught hinted that he had supporters across North America, Asia, and Scandinavia that were meant to come in when he conquered Harry at the Final Battle and give him an in to control foreign magical societies. It was never just about reforming wizarding Britain. We've done our best to keep news of the attacks and our recent discoveries about Voldemort's plans from the public. No need to cause a panic. But the truth is that those Death Eaters that avoided incarceration and his supporters abroad are a very real threat. They've taken it upon themselves to avenge their master. They intend to wipe out all who resisted them and all those who betrayed their cause."

"Yes, as Ms. Bones said, all who opposed Voldemort openly or who turned to the Order are being hunted actively. You lot defied him and his supporters for years. Some of you betrayed the cause, and all of you played a fundamental part in his downfall. Needless to say, you're all at the top of their hit list." Kingsley said.

The room lapsed into silence as the group mulled over what they had been told. It was McLeod who broke the tense silence. "Of course, that's not what we've called you in for. Don't really care that you're on the hit list myself. We just need you to accept our offer. Be stupid not to."

Theo snorted, "That's really endearing us to whatever cause you're recruiting us for."

"You've sort of given us a lot to think about," Harry announced for the group as a whole.

Luna, who until that moment had been cradling her face in her hands and staring at a blank space on the far wall idly, spoke. "Not really, Harry. Help them or live life looking over your shoulder watching for rogue Death Eaters to come strike you down. I don't know about you all, but I don't much care to be looking over my shoulder for any length of time. It'd give me a terrible crick." The airy, nonchalant way she said it briefly made the others wonder if she was joking.

It was Pansy who chimed in with her agreement. "Lovegood makes a valid point. So, that just begs the question then. If we agree to help you, what exactly is it you're asking of us and what do we get out of it besides a fighting chance?"

The others softly muttered their agreement with her.

Bones smiled at them beseechingly, "Each of you has become an outcast in our society. You've all been turned down for jobs and excluded from the wizarding world to the extent that you have essentially become willing prisoners in your own homes. While none of you are financially destitute by any means, I can assume you miss basic human interaction and having the option of something to do to pass the time. None of you are equipped with the skills necessary to have interactions with muggles or to hold employment in the non-magical world, even if some of you grew up there. You don't have the education or skills required. So, what we are offering you, in short, is a job. You each have unique skillsets, experiences, and abilities that make you valuable to the Ministry. What we propose is that you work as a group of specialized aurors. If you accept then you will be known as the ELITE division. You will be trained by the best aurors and curse breakers available, and you will be sent on specialized missions that our typical aurors are incapable of handling. For example, you would handle infiltrating enemy territory and gathering information."

"Some of you were raised in dark families and could behave far more convincingly than a trained auror. Some of you have a wealth of knowledge pertaining to how to battle Death Eaters and their ilk amongst other things. You have real insight into Voldemort's mind. So you see, we need you in there. That a few of you happen to be slightly mental or unstable actually works in our favor," McLeod weighed in.

Kingsley shot a warning look at the auror. "Its true that we would benefit substantially from having you on board. But, you would have the benefit of gaining a purpose in life again, and you'd have information made available to you about the rogue's plans against you. We're offering you a job and a better chance of survival. So, what do you say?"


	3. General Consensus

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. I'm just taking up residence on Rowling's couch.

By the way, I wanted to thank a couple of my reviewers. One of my reviewers was kind enough to point out I made a mistake and said Voldemort taught at Hogwarts. I've corrected the issue in chapter 1 so it aligns with the books. Also, thanks for reminding me I should've labeled this story as an AU since I've changed some things (like Fred surviving or some of the Slytherin's roles in the war). Thanks for catching those mistakes and letting me know!

And to **Thinker90** , thank you for reviewing and I'm really glad to hear you find my take on a post-hogwarts world interesting. Thanks for your feedback!

 **The Undesirables: General Consensus**

Kingsley's offer was met with blank stares and silence; mostly because the seven former students were experiencing information overload and they couldn't wrap their minds around everything they'd been told. Seeing their reaction, the Minister stood and motioned for Bones and McLeod to do the same. "We'll leave you to talk it over for a few minutes." That said, he and the two Heads walked out of the conference room.

At the faint sound of the doors clicking shut the remaining seven turned their attention on one another. Theo was the one to voice the thought running through all of their heads. "Well, this day went to the shitter pretty quickly."

"How eloquently put," Hermione muttered, though she certainly didn't disagree with his sentiment.

"I _do_ have a way with words. It's a gift," Theo retorted with a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Pansy rolled her eyes, "So is silence, which is a gift that you don't give nearly often enough."

"Rude," the green-eyed former Slytherin hissed, "I forgot how unpleasant you can be, Pans."

Hermione groaned, "Can we _please_ save the banter for later? Just now, I think we've got something a little more important to discuss."

"What's there to discuss?" Draco asked. "Luna already summed it up for us. We help them and we can hopefully stay ahead of what's coming for us or we don't and maybe live a while but more than likely get caught in the crossfire and die a terrible death."

"I'm all for self-preservation," Blaise said, raking his hands through his messy curls.

"Here, here!" Pansy and Theo chimed.

Hermione sighed, "Have you missed the part where they want you to go into espionage? One of you has a faded Dark Mark and is easily recognizable as a turncoat. One of you quite publically killed your own father to protect Harry, and the other two are from notorious pureblood families and sold information to the Order. What about you lot going into their ranks sounds like a recipe for self-preservation?"

"Granger, be careful what you say. Someone might think you care," Zabini winked at her. Hermione had understood as soon as she entered the conference room why their wands had been removed from them, however, she had a real appreciation for the fact that they had been stripped of their wands now because her hand was itching to cast a stinging hex at the Italian Slytherin.

His indigo eyes shifted to his old housemates as he seriously considered her words. "If you think about it, it is sort of self-preservation in a roundabout way. Better to go directly into the fray on your own terms than to wait for it to catch you unawares. We'd have to disguise ourselves somehow. We'll figure it out."

"Well, there you have it. We'll figure it out, but we're all in. So what's your answer Gryffindorks?" Pansy inquired while inspecting her immaculately manicured nails. She spared a furtive glance Luna, "Honorary Gryffindork?"

Luna eyed the dark-hared girl appraisingly, "Fair enough. I'm in, too."

Harry frowned, "So just to be clear, you're all okay working together? Like, _actually_ working together. If we do this we'll have to rely on each other and I'm not so sure that any of us trust each other enough to manage this. I mean, I can't honestly say that I trust Malfoy not to hex me when my back's turned."

Draco quirked one eyebrow, "I know it's a stretch, but try not to be stupid, Potter. We trust that you wouldn't leave us to die or hex us from behind. You're Gryffindor sensibilities won't allow you to. And you can trust that none of us would hex you from behind."

"That's right. If we wanted you dead we'd just mess up our timing a little. Be just a fraction of a second too late to help you fend off an enemy. Doing it ourselves leaves too much opportunity to be caught," Theo said cheerfully.

Harry grimaced, "Yeah…no. See, this is the part I'm uncertain about. Hermione?" He turned desperate emerald eyes on her, pleading with her to offer her opinion. If nothing else, he could always trust that she wouldn't lead him astray. She never had before.

The brunette witch sighed. "I think you already know the answer, Harry. Luna's already in and you know we won't leave her to do this without us. Besides, we have to do this, for ourselves and for the people we care about. I don't think we have cause to distrust anyone in this room. Draco may have been a Death Eater, but he helped defeat Voldemort in the end. Pansy may have thought about giving you up to Voldemort, but she did the right thing ultimately. Blaise and Theodore were on our side, too. They have nothing to gain from betraying us now."

"Come on, Potter. Where's that alleged Gryffindor courage?" Zabini jeered.

Harry heaved a sigh and scrubbed at his face with fisted hands. His shoulders slumped slightly as he tried to bore holes into the dark wooden table in front of him with his eyes. "I guess it's decided then." He raised his eyes to look at each of the room's occupants, "But I think that if we're going to do this we should all take unbreakable vows. Promise to keep each other alive and unharmed if we can. We'll have to figure out how to word it."

No one disagreed with that request, if it could be called a request and not a demand. Each of them nodded in turn. "Alright. We'll go with that. Hermione and I will work out the details. Is that acceptable?" Draco asked blandly.

"Works for me. Just owl me when you're available." Hermione conceded. She knew it wasn't really necessary to ask him when he was available, but it seemed rude not to. His schedule was every bit as flexible as hers. After all, if he had a job he wouldn't be in this room right now. No one wanted to be associated with an ex-Death Eater. He was doubly screwed over in all honesty. The majority of purebloods ostracized him for what they perceived as a betrayal, and the good and neutral parties all considered him too much of a loose canon to associate with. If what the rumor mill said was true, the Malfoy heir had retreated into a hidden estate in the countryside with his mother following his father's incarceration.

Draco nodded, "Consider it done."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his best friend, "Hey, wait a second! Why do _you_ have to be the one to work out the vow with 'Mione?"

"Harry, Draco was second in our class. He's also probably seen his fair share of vows made, and he's a Snake. A Malfoy at that. He's practically genetically programmed to be crafty." Hermione pointed out, straining to keep the frustration out of her voice. She shouldn't be mad at Harry for being protective of her, but he really needed to let this business with Draco go.

"Fine," the boy who lived snapped, "but I don't have to like it. And I get to be there whenever you meet up."

"Sure. Whatever makes you happy, Harry," she replied tiredly. Draco made a vaguely derisive sound in the back of his throat. "Your guard dog's gotten more vicious with age." He intoned.

Hermione didn't bother to disagree with him. It was true. Harry had always been protective of her, but things changed after the disastrous events at Malfoy Manor. He became extremely protective after that. He hovered, finding excuses to come into whatever room she was in as if he expected her to suddenly disappear on him.

The sound of footsteps outside of the lone entryway pulled everyone's attention away from the truth of Draco's statement. Kingsley and the two Heads stepped back into the room and reclaimed their seats. They made no attempt to restart the meeting and so Harry took matters into his own hands. "We've all decided and well…I guess, we're in. We'll help you."

Kingsley's face lit up with a bright smile. "Brilliant! Honestly, this is the best news I've had in months. So then," he paused and motioned to Bones who quickly began passing around several sheets of parchment, "since you've made your choice, we'll be needing you to sign these. They're your contracts. Understand that this is no different than the contracts we extend to the other employees. You're free to leave at anytime."

"With the understanding that should we see anything unsavory or strictly confidential that you'll be obliviating us, right?" Draco murmured silkily, his gray eyes scanning lazily over the scroll in his hand.

Harry begrudgingly admitted that he could see why Draco was the best choice for Hermione to work with on the unbreakable vow. He hadn't caught that particular detail in the meticulously worded language of the contract.

McLeod crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, "It's standard protocol."

"Is it?" Hermione inquired. She had never seen a wizarding employment contract, let alone one for the Ministry. If this was considered protocol she wasn't sure she liked how they did business. "There seems to be a certain failure to define what constitutes unsavory or confidential."

Bones smiled gently at the younger witch, "I can understand your concern. But there really isn't a better way to word it. Situations may arise that we cannot be prepared for and for that reason I'm afraid you'll have to make do with this contract. I know a lot of you haven't had the best history with the Ministry, but please know that as Head of the DMLE I will be overseeing your contract and I have no desire to exploit you or to abuse the power this contract grants me. Anyone else who attempts to will deal directly with myself and Minister Shacklebolt."

Hermione examined the Head of DMLE with a critical eye and, seeing no sign of dishonesty or cunning, finally nodded her head and signed her name in an elegant scrawl on the bottom of the contract. The room was quiet save for the sound of quills scratching at parchment. Harry was the last to sign the legal document. His hand drew out the characters haltingly and when he had to release it to Kingsley he struggled to make his fingers let go. Hermione reached over and grasped his hand, offering him a reassuring smile. Her expression promising that they would talk about everything that had transpired later.

The Minister and the Heads stood up and the others followed their lead. Kingsley offered them all a sincere smile and led the way into the lobby. "It was a pleasure meeting with you all today. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that this has all worked out. Once we get all of the essential people on board for this endeavor we will contact you with your start date."

"Right. Just curious, are you going to be telling them whom they'll be working with? Because if you do, I sincerely doubt they'll be terribly willing to assist. And for that matter, what will you tell the aurors about us?" Blaise asked. His tone was vaguely haughty but genuine curiosity bled through.

Luna perked up at this particular line of questioning. "Oh, that is a good question. In case you haven't noticed, people are very wary of us or weary of us. I'm no sure which."

"Wary, Luna. And that's putting it politely," Harry said softly.

The blonde cocked her head to the side in thought. "No, I think they're weary of us. They're dissatisfied by what _they_ chose to do or not do, which in turn makes them dissatisfied with us because we remind them of what they didn't do, amongst other things. It's always easier to put the blame on someone else, you know."

"Well said, Ms. Lovegood. Now, in answer to your inquiry, I don't imagine that the individuals we intend to call on to train you will be averse to assisting us because of your respective pasts. The monetary compensation will be more than enough to gain their assistance. As for the ministry workers you will interface with, allow us the duration of the time we will spend reaching out to our contacts to plan accordingly for that particular issue. The details will be forwarded to you by owl. Is that acceptable?" the Minister asked.

After that, there was nothing left to do but consent and gather their wands from the taciturn secretary. She eyed them all with evident distrust, but handed over the wands cautiously as if she expected them to lash out at her at any given moment. As a collective, they hastily piled into the elevator and exited in the hallway adjacent to the atrium used for arrivals and departures. Much like when the trio had first appeared a mere two hours earlier, the occupants stilled and watched them with cautious eyes. Some went so far as to try and shrink into the shadows creasing the walls. The pretended not to notice and moved on, eager to get away from the gossip and the cruel remarks. They took a small amount of comfort from each other, regardless of how little some of them liked one another. It was always nice to know that one wasn't alone in any given situation.

Once they reached the end of the hall they darted for the nearest fireplaces and broke away from each other with little more than nods of acknowledgment.

Hermione stumbled into their living room, her hands making quick work of clearing away the cinders on her clothing. She ignored the fire flaring behind her as Harry and Luna stepped out of the fireplace and headed for the kitchen to put on some tea. The shuffling steps behind her let her know that her companions were following. She pulled out cups with steady hands, deftly lining them up on the counter and reaching for the container of tealeaves. She didn't have the patience to wait for water to boil so she let magic take care of that bit. While she was all for doing things the muggle way so that she stayed in touch with her roots, she wasn't very keen on waiting for water to boil for her tea. Especially not when her nerves were frayed beyond repair and she was a bit of a wreck. She contemplated lowering her level of consciousness to avoid the worry but judging by the look on Harry's face he was going to need someone to sympathize with him.

She had just sat down at the table when Ron came ambling into their relatively large dining room. His blue eyes brightened with mischief. "Well, if you lot aren't in jail or being held up for a trial the meeting must not have been that bad. Mum'll be glad to hear it. She was a wreck when she found out about the summons."

He moved to the table and pulled Luna out of her seat, dropping himself into her chair and pulling her onto his lap. She smiled prettily at him, "It could've been better news, but it's not the worst."

"It's not?" Harry asked, incredulity bleeding into his tone.

Luna merely hummed under her breath, her attention fixated on combing through Ron's shaggy hair. The red-head smiled indulgently at her ministrations as he asked, "So what's the deal then?"

Seeing that Harry was in no shape to talk about what had occurred, Hermione took over explaining. She kept it as short and simple as possible, but told Ron enough so that he had an idea of what was going on. All the while Harry sat staring vacantly at the floor.

"The Ministry wants you and a group of Slytherins to band together and lend your skills to help disband, capture, or possibly kill Voldemort's secret network of rogue Death Eaters," the second youngest Weasley said dryly, attempting to make sense of what he was being told.

"Yes," Hermione said.

His blue eyes looked furiously over Luna and then his two best friends. "And you said yes?!" His voice was colored with disbelief.

"Didn't seem like there was much of a choice," Hermione explained.

Ron's eyes flashed dangerously as he gently lifted Luna from his lap so that he could stand up. "There's always a bloody choice, 'Mione! What if something happens to you guys? Did you forget all the horrible things that happened to us in the last war? Wasn't fighting one war enough for you? You guys have to go and wage another one?"

"We're not waging another war, Ronald, we're finishing the first one! Can't you understand that? Of course you can't because you—" Hermione began only for Ron to cut in, "Because I what?! What, Hermione? Because I wasn't stupid enough to obliviate my family and send them off to another country to die with no recollection of me? Because I got lucky and wasn't tortured? Because I'm not the poor forgotten hero? All of that may be true but I suffered in my own right, damn it."

"No, Ron. You don't know a thing about suffering. Like you said, your family is still intact and you got to avoid the emotional, physical, and mental scarring that came with the war. The closest thing to a wound you have from the war is the fleeting bouts of irrational anger that you experience from being exposed to Voldemort's hocrux. And let's be honest, you were irrationally angry even _before_ that so it's something you're well equipped to deal with. You've been spared the torture of being lied about, talked about, slandered at every turn. You don't know what it is to have to endure the constant judgment and seeing the looks of terror on people's faces when you pass by. The closest you've come is what you've experienced if you went somewhere with Luna or Harry and I. You've been insolated from the worst of this."

Hermione didn't bother to address the part about her parents because it was true. She wasn't certain of the details of their deaths, but she did feel that if she hadn't sent them away that might have lived longer. Her eyes stung with tears that she was too stubborn to let fall as she stared Ron down.

The red-haired wizard turned on his heel and headed out of the room. He called back over his shoulder, "I don't have to stand here and listen to this. If you come to your senses I'll be over at the Burrow."

Luna watched him leave and then offered a wistful smile to her friends. "I'll go and try to get him sorted out. Take care of each other." Once Hermione offered her a slight nod of her head she hurriedly vacated the dining room and chased after her furious fiancé.

Hermione drew in a deep breath and held it, mentally counting to ten before releasing it slowly. It did very little to calm her down, but it bought her enough time to at least compose herself a little before facing Harry. She pivoted on her heel to face her remaining best friend, only to find him staring just as vacantly at the floor as he had been when he first sat down at the table.

"Harry…"

He raised glassy green eyes to meet her whiskey colored ones. The haunted look in them was enough to stop her from speaking.

"He really doesn't get it. He's been my best mate since we were eleven, but he just doesn't get it. I never wanted this life. I never wanted to be the boy who lived or a hero, or whatever I am now. I didn't ask for any of the things that happened to me. How can he not see that if anything, I should be jealous of him? He has everything I've ever wanted: a family, a great job, and normalcy. And all he can see is the adventure and fame associated with being me."

Hermione closed the few steps between them and kneeled down at his feet, crossing her arms over his knees and peering up into his face. "Harry, you know you'll never be anything other than Harry to Ron and I. We don't care about the fame or adventures. Ron may be pigheaded about these things, and I don't mean to make any excuses for him, but he does love you, Harry. Like you said, you've been best mates for years. I think a lot of what he said just now came out of fear. He's afraid of losing us and with what we've agreed to, there's a chance he might. Just give him some time to cool off."

Harry sighed heavily, reaching up to tug on one of her wayward curls. "I know. I just wish he could see things for what they really are sometimes. I get why he reacted that way, but I wish he could understand that you and I and the others, none of us want to fight anymore. We're all tired of it. I knew it was the right thing to do but it took every ounce of my willpower to sign that contract. All I could think about was how I was signing my life over to clean up someone else's mess again. Last time it was Dumbledore, this time it's the Ministry. I'd like for there to be a day when my life is actually my own! And what about you? You've spent practically your entire life following me around and putting your life on the line for me and I let you! If something happens to you it'll be my fault and—"

The resounding smack of skin on skin reverberated through the walls. Harry raised a hand to cup his red cheek, his wide eyes fixed on the curly-haired witch at his feet. "Hermione?"

The witch in question glowered darkly at him. "You're being an idiot, Harry! A complete and utter pigheaded idiot! I knew the situation regarding you and I _chose_ to follow you anyway. I _chose_ to befriend you and help you defeat Voldemort. I _chose_ to put my life on the line for you. Me, Harry. I made that decision. You didn't _let_ me do anything. This is no different. I made the call to sign that contract. I know the risks and just like when we went on our first adventure together as children, I still think you're worth the risks."

When the green-eyed boy did little more than stare at her with his mouth slightly agape, she reached out and gently patted his hand. "One way or another we're going to get through this, Harry."

She stood and brushed off her jeans, eyeing the darkening handprint on his face with worry. "Now, I should probably go get some salve for that. It's going to be a nasty bruise otherwise." She whirled around and headed for the emergency kit in the kitchen leaving behind her mystified best friend.


	4. Anchors and Obtuse Triangles

Hey guys! I apologize to those of you who had the misfortune of seeing the disaster that was chapter 4 earlier. I've re-uploaded the document so hopefully this time we'll have no problems. I want to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. I'm really happy that you all have enjoyed it thus far. I've been asked if this will be a Harry/Hermione story and the answer is yes, it will be. I'm building up to it. Also, Ron does have a place in this story. I'm just in the midst of setting him up for the role he'll play. I want to make sure I get it right and all the pieces fit together. Once again, thank you for your support of this story! Now, without further delay here's chapter 4. Oh yeah, and I don't own Harry Potter, I'm just trying on Rowlings thinking cap.

 **The Undesirables: Anchors and Obtuse Triangles**

The ground was slick with blood. She wanted to get up, to run away from what she knew was coming, but her body was too broken. Her hands grasped for purchase on the ruined marble floor, but only succeeded in smearing the crimson fluid around in a sick mockery of the snow angels she loved making with her mother as a child. The deep darkness of the room was undisturbed, save for a spot of moonlight that filtered in through the glass dome ceiling. It was just enough light to illuminate the grotesque scene she painted, a living portrait of agony and fear. She managed to roll onto her stomach with a pained whimper and somehow found the strength to shakily rise to her knees. She couldn't see past the darkness, but she knew she wasn't alone. She could hear the snickers, the jeers, and the taunts of those who hid in the shadows. There was a time in her childhood when she believed her parents when they said there was no such things as monsters hiding in the shadows, but now that she was older she knew better. Whilst trapped in her mind her tormentors hid in the darkness, but in the real world monsters hid behind the faces of friends and allies, behind the masks of authority figures and trustworthy individuals. Anyone could be a monster.

The shadows around the patch of moonlight stirred and a willowy figured, somewhat emaciated woman stepped out of the darkness. A frail tendril of moonlight lit up her sickly pale face and highlighted the mockingly sympathetic smile she wore. Her dark curls were lost to the black canopy of night. "You surprise me little mudblood. I was sure you'd have given into my demands by now. Well, then we'll just have to go another round, won't we? Crucio!" The woman brandished her wand in an angry slashing motion, watching with a wide grin as the crimson curse hit the younger witch.

She screamed out, twisting away from the pain and curling in on herself as if that would provide any relief. Her screams and sobs were lost to her own ears, trampled over by the sound of her tormentor's laughter. Her skin felt as though it were being peeled away layer by agonizing layer. Her lungs burned as if she had been deprived of oxygen for far too long, and she could feel her muscles seize so harshly they began to spasm and tear. As quickly as the onslaught of pain had come it was gone, but the after shocks still ran through her broken body. The soft click of heels on marble echoed through the room, the only sound she could hear besides her pounding heart. The monster in the shadows drifted closer and leaned over her. "And now? Do you have anything you want to tell me mudblood?"

She struggled to breathe, a strangled rasping sound escaping her when she inhaled. All she could find it in herself to do was shake her head at the woman.

"Nothing at all?" the witch hissed.

She could see that her assailant was going to keep pressing her to answer. It was obvious she took delight in her pain and undoubtedly talking would bring more pain, but so would saying nothing. She narrowed bruised and swollen whiskey-colored eyes on the older witch, "A lot of things, but they'd probably all go over your head. I'm the brightest witch of my age after all."

An ugly sneer warped an almost pretty face making the other woman appear demonic. The shadows distorted her face, making her mouth appear unnaturally wide and it filled in the sockets of her eyes with impenetrable black. She lifted her hand and a glimmer of silver caught the light as she brought it down. The sharp sting of recently split flesh burned its way across her cheek and along the bridge of her nose. She shrieked, turning her face away instinctively but knowing the action wouldn't ward off the pain. The dark-haired witch moved in a flurry of heavy skirts, "Still got some fight left in you, mudblood? Well, lets see how much fight you have left in you after this."

The sound of something heavy dragging across the floor met her ears. It was a soft whisper of something life fabric against marble. She clenched her eyes shut and turned her face away, praying for this nightmare to end. A heavy thud sounded from beside her, her eyes snapped open against her will. She was met with the sight of a head full of messy honey brown hair the same exact shade as her own, and the slender, almost skeletal hand that almost lovingly ran through it. Her eyes trailed down along the swell of a bloodied forehead, down past a larger and more masculine version of her nose, and then darted back up and locked onto the glazed and unseeing hazel eyes of her father. With a shaking hand she reached out to touch him, to see if he was really there, if he was really dead. Her fingers barely kissed his skin when he was yanked away.

"Ah, ah, ah, mudblood. You can look, but you can't touch. You don't deserve to touch even _this_ piece of filth. After all, it's your fault he's dead. It's your fault both of your parents are dead. We got them, mudblood and I think you know who is next."

She screamed, thrashing on the floor and willing it to be a lie even when she already knew it was the truth. She screamed until her throat was hoarse and her lungs lit up with a fire that had nothing to do with exposure to the crucio curse. She ignored the hot tears that spilled over her cheeks and betrayed her pain and howled her regret and the crippling fear that rolled through her to the shadows until a voice broke into the haze of terror clouding her mind.

"Hermione!" It was distant, so distant that she barely heard it. Her screams lessened in volume and gave way to harsh, wracking sobs instead.

"Hermione!" This time she felt some invisible force shake her, forcibly moving her into a propped up position. "Hermione! It's okay! You're okay!" The scene became fuzzy around the edges and then faded away.

Hermione tore away from the arms restraining her and sat up, her hands frantically patting down her body for injuries and her eyes wildly scanning the shadows in her room for signs of her assailant. There was nothing but empty space in the corners of her room.

"Hermione, you're alright. It wasn't real. It was just a bad dream. It's over now," Harry's soothing voice came from behind her. She hurriedly shuffled around on the bed, tangling the covers around her in the process, and faced him. Her glassy eyes peered beseechingly into his green ones. "It's okay."

She flung herself at him, twining her arms around his torso and burrowing into his chest. His arms folded around her, pulling her closer as he rubbed comforting circles on her back. "I'm here, 'Mione. It'll all be okay, I promise. I won't let anything happen to you." He whispered the words into her hair; the warmth of his breath breezing through the curly strands with each word calmed her. She took in a shaky breath, exhaling noisily and then repeated the process again, all the while focusing on his steady heartbeat and the sound of his voice. For most of her life Harry had been her anchor. He was her anchor to the wizarding world, the reason she went back and faced the bigotry and slander in her younger years, and now, all these years later he was still her anchor, just in a different way. He was all that kept her grounded and her feet firmly planted in reality these days. He knew it, just as she knew that she was his touchstone, the one thing he relied on most.

It was well after four in the morning when Harry finally shifted to lean back on her pillows. He pulled her with him and she easily followed his lead, far from ready to part with the only thing keeping the nightmares away.

Harry released a quiet sigh. "Want to talk about it?"

Hermione tilted her head up to look at him a bit better, but all she could see was the tip of his chin. "I dreamt of Bellatrix. I was with her in a dark room. She tortured me and she killed my parents. She said it was my fault."

His arms tightened around her. "We all have to own things that are our fault, 'Mione, but your parent's deaths…that's not something you have to carry on your conscious. If they had stayed here they would have been found and killed. You did what you had to, to protect them. What followed was unfortunate, but it's not your fault. Understand me?"

"Yes, but I can't help but feel that it is my fault," she murmured, blinking back tears.

"Do you think it's my fault that my parents were murdered?" Harry asked suddenly.

Hermione scrambled to sit up. "Merlin! No, Harry. Of course that's not your fault. How could it be?"

"They were killed because Voldemort wanted me," he said flatly, his eyes never leaving the ceiling.

"Because of a stupid prophecy! They were murdered by Voldemort. _You_ didn't do anything wrong. You were just a child, what protection could you have offered them? If Voldemort hadn't been hell bent on reforming the wizarding world they'd still be here," she retorted.

Harry tilted his face down to peer at her, his hands reaching out to pull her down beside him. Once she was settled he rested his chin on the crown of her head, "Then why are you any different? You were just a kid fighting in a grown up's war. You didn't ask to be caught up in a war. You didn't ask for any of what happened. You just reacted the only way you knew how. Don't beat yourself up over something that was out of your control, 'Mione."

They lapsed into silence for a minute before Harry lightly tugged one of her tangled curls. "If you really want to dwell on something, dwell on the mistakes that are absolutely your fault. Like that time you put cat hair in your polyjuice potion. Not one of your finer moments."

Against her will a chuckle rose up in her throat. She swatted at his arm, "Can't we go a month without you or Ron bringing that up?"

Harry shrugged, "Doubtful. You're mistakes are so few and far between in comparison to ours that we have to resort to repeating the same ones over and over again. Maybe you should stop being so perfect."

"Or maybe you and Ronald should try thinking _before_ you act. Perhaps you should add working on your observational skills to the list of things you need to correct, too, especially if you think _I'm_ perfect," she said dryly.

"Oh please, you're the epitome of perfect, 'Mione." Her best friend said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye but the sincerity in his voice made her blush.

She snorted in amusement. "Do you even know what epitome means?"

"I'll have you know I read a whole two pages of a dictionary once and that word was on the first page. So yes, I know what it means," he said in a faux snooty tone.

She rolled her eyes at his antics, which earned her a slightly hard tug on her hair. In the dim light of the room she could faintly see Harry adjusting his expression into one of false anger. "You know what, I take it back. You're not perfect at all. You're kind of bossy and a bit of a know it all, and you leave your books all over the house for me to trip over. But…" he paused to smile down at her, "I wouldn't want you any other way."

Hermione ignored the deepening blush staining her cheeks, more than grateful for the dimness of the room. It kept Harry from seeing the obvious warmth that his words flooded her with. "Thanks, Harry. For everything. I wouldn't want you any other way either, you know. I love you…violent mood swings and all."

The only answer she received was a gentle squeeze, but that was all the response she needed. Sometimes silence said more than words could.

It was late morning when Hermione woke up. The sun was filtering in through her window in washed out shades of yellow, muted by the gathering storm clouds in the distance. Harry was still fast asleep, his glasses skewed on his face and his hair was more messy than usual. The occasional soft puff of air left him as he slept and Hermione had to fight down the giggle that wanted to escape her at the picture he made. Pushing her amusement away she began the tedious process of trying to slip out of bed and out of the room without waking him. She shifted and carefully began peeling the sheets away from her body, edging her way to the other side of the bed and sliding out. She crept around the room, snatching up one of her oversized sweatshirts and yanking it over her head. Tiptoeing around the bed and leaping lightly over the creaky floorboard, she made her way to the door.

"Where're you going?" Harry's sleep addled voice called out.

She whirled around to look at him, "Downstairs. I could use some tea. You should go back to bed, Harry. You were up all night taking care of me."

"Could say the same to you. You look dead on your feet," he retorted.

She ran her fingers through her long hair in an attempt to tame it but only succeeded in snaring her fingers. She grumbled as she pulled her hand free. "I _feel_ dead on my feet. I just can't sleep anymore."

Harry sat up, scrubbing at his eyes and righting his glasses on his nose. "Well then, if you're up, I'm up.

She shrugged dainty shoulders, "If you say so." She pulled open the door and slipped into the hall, faintly surprised when the scent of bacon and pancakes greeted her. She glanced over her shoulder at Harry, who simply shrugged and slid past her and down the hall to the staircase. "Looks like Luna's back. That, or Molly's come to talk us out of our terrible decision."

"I err towards the latter of those options," Hermione replied.

Harry tilted his head, "My money's on Luna and maybe Ron. Depending on how much he's calmed down anyway. Care to see whose right?"

Hermione didn't answer, but she did speed up her stride so that she was taking two steps at a time. Harry quickly followed her lead. They cleared the staircase and darted through the living room, skidding to a halt in the kitchen at the sight that greeted them.

Luna was indeed back and so was Ron, or at least, they assumed it was Ron. While they knew quite a lot of tall, lanky red-heads, the only one they knew that Luna would be wrapped around tighter than a boa constrictor around prey, was Ron. They turned away hurriedly, dark blushes rising to their cheeks.

"Oh Merlin! I didn't need to see that!" Hermione choked out.

"I didn't need to see it either!" Harry groaned.

"I don't know what you're complaining about, you right," the curly haired witch said.

Harry stared down at the floor, shaking his head frantically. "I don't want to be right anymore! I can't unsee that."

Luna fixed silvery-blue eyes on them, "Maybe you should've called out a warning before coming bursting in here."

"Us call out a warning? You're the one who always knows where everybody is! How didn't you see us coming or hear us or whatever the hell it is that you do?" Harry fired back.

"I was pleasantly distracted," she said cheerfully, clearing her smeared lip-gloss away with a napkin she snatched off the counter.

Hermione shuddered. "Right, lets just pretend this never happened." She turned her attention to their red-headed friend who, until that moment, had been staring intently at the floor. "Ron…" Harry started only to trail off uncertainly.

Ron finally raised his blue eyes and locked them on his two best friends. He opened his mouth to say something, but his lips moved without any sound escaping. Luna nudged him gently in the ribs. "If you're trying to impersonate a dummy without his ventriloquist then that's very impressive, Ron. But if you're trying to apologize, it generally helps to just come out with it."

His cheeks flooded pink and he nodded jerkily. "Okay. Alright. Look, I'm…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off like that and I should've heard you out. I know you guys aren't trying to wage another war or anything. I know you better than that, but I was worried, alright? I _am_ worried. It'd be so easy for something to happen to you guys…or to me. But I just…I'm sorry for what I said and yeah…Bloody hell. I'm no good at this. Can't one of you just say something already?"

"You're right. You should've heard us out. You should know Harry and I well enough to know we wouldn't do this if we thought that we had another choice. Honestly, Ronald! You've got your head shoved so far up your arse that you probably think the sun rises on your left cheek and sets on the right."

"Hey! I said I was sorry! What more do you want from me?" he yelled, throwing his hands up in his frustration.

Hermione stared at him for a long minute. Her eyes scanned over the anger in his eyes that barely concealed the fear that lay beneath and her anger evaporated. She sighed in defeat. "Nothing. It's fine, Ron. It's over." She smiled thinly at him and patted his shoulder as she passed by him.

"What? That's just…what the hell was that?" He fixed a wide-eyed stare on Harry and Luna. "I swear she's got some major issues."

"I've got less _issues_ than you, Ronald. You've got more problems than there are images in "Where's Waldo?" Hermione retorted from the dining room.

Ron frowned, "Who the hell is Waldo and why're you trying to find him?"

"Don't worry about it, mate" Harry couldn't keep the snicker out of his voice.

Ron shrugged and then focused his full attention on Harry. "So…are you okay?"

Harry smiled weakly at him. It was hard for him to stay upset with his friend when the reason he had reacted so badly was out of concern. He knew Ron cared about them in his own backwards way. He was just rubbish at showing it. "Yeah. So, you brought food?"

Ron nodded and began leading the rest of the group to the dining room.

"Is it a peace offering?" Hermione inquired.

"Something like that," Ron said as he dropped into one of the cream colored chairs. He stared guiltily at her, " 'Mione, what I said about your parents…"

She raised her hands and motioned for him to shut up. "Let's just let bygones be bygones. We've got enough to worry about without a feud with you."

He frowned, "Right. I guess we do."

The conversation was momentarily forgotten as they piled food on their plates. It wasn't until the clatter of knives and forks against porcelain had died down that Ron spoke again. "Do you suppose the Minister would let me in on this elite auror business if we asked? I mean, I'm a war hero, too."

Luna remained curiously reticent, her attention focused on stacking as many of the left over pancakes as she could onto a plate until they towered so high they threatened to spill over. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances, but it was Harry who voiced their concern. "Ron, do you really want to do that?"

"Of course I do! If my best mates and fiancé are going to join some elite team and fight rogue Death Eaters I want to be right there with them. Besides, when have I ever let you two do something without me? We're the golden trio." He said emphatically.

"Are we? Sometimes I feel like we're more of an obtuse triangle and you're the missing hypotenuse," Hermione deadpanned.

"What?" Ron asked, confusion evident in his voice.

Harry rolled his eyes at the exchange. "Anyway, what about quidditch, mate? That's been your dream forever. Do you really want to give it up for this?"

Ron's enthusiasm dimmed down to a dying ember. It was obvious he was torn on how to answer. Hermione offered him a pat on the hand. "Think it over, Ron. There's no rush. They haven't even owled us any information yet."

He nodded his head, "Yeah. Thanks, Hermione. I don't want to give up quidditch, to be honest. But, I don't want you guys fighting without me either."


End file.
